


Bare Ruined Choirs

by quercus



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-13
Updated: 2002-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:12:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/quercus





	Bare Ruined Choirs

He'd lost the bet.

He'd gambled against everything: his future, Daniel's, the SGC's, the fate of the world, fucking *everything*, and he'd lost. He was lost.

And now he stood on another planet, this one dry and dusty, staring at sad, bare ruins. Low mounds that he knew had once been walls. Narrow passageways, where once some sentient beings, forever unknown now, had trod. Cradling his P-90 in his right arm, he reached out with his left and traced the blurred lettering carved into the stela before him. He knew it was a stela; he recognized it as writing. He knew all these things that he, Jack O'Neill, should never ever have known.

Behind him stood his team. The newly-constituted SG-1, so he supposed it was his team. It didn't feel like his team anymore. They weren't his anymore.

From her uneven breathing, he knew Carter was near tears and nearly losing the battle. He felt more than heard Teal'c step nearer to her, and in his mind's eye, saw them lean against one another, offering each other a comfort that he would never know again: the comfort of a familiar body, a beloved friend. She sniffed, and exhaled shakily.

The lettering blurred further, and he realized it wasn't the carving that was soft, it was him. His eyes were tearing up, his breathing harsher than Carter's, the hand resting on the stela trembling.

No one would ever read these words. Did they announce a warning? Commemorate the loss of a loved one? Advertise a big white sale? No one would know, no one would care. Not now. Not anymore.

For years, he'd gambled that one day he would turn to Daniel, who'd be watching him carefully, that small smile playing around his lips, and say, "So. Put in my retirement papers." And Daniel would've nodded and stepped a little closer and no other words would ever be needed, because he would've won the bet, he would've won everything. They hadn't needed words, he and Daniel. A look, a raised eyebrow, a touch on the shoulder, and everything had been communicated as directly as telepathy, as heartfelt as a kiss, the kiss they'd never shared.

He swallowed and blinked rapidly, then stepped back. "Right," he tried to say, but his voice was gone. That was leaving him, too. "I'll take point." He brushed past the stela and crunched ruthlessly over the rubble, not seeing anything, just trying to catch his breath before his heart exploded, right there on P3X-479, an empty planet, as empty as he was.

"Yes, sir," he heard Carter whisper, and then their boots, too, following him, but not too closely. Maybe they'd learn from his mistakes. He didn't have enough energy to hope so for them,; all his energy was focused on holding himself upright while the universe careened around him.

Oh yeah. He'd lost this bet. Lost everything. The dreams of a retirement spent fetching and carrying spades and brushes and screens were gone; of bringing home a mess of fish and sharing an evening meal, gone; of drinking beer while staring at a chessboard, gone. Everything was gone.

They had a ten klick hike ahead of them, to the location the geologists thought might contain naquada. He surreptitiously wiped his face on his shoulder and focused on the task at hand. Because there were no distractions now, no one arguing for more time, to return, to look at this, Jack, just a few minutes, a few pictures.

There was no wormhole that could carry him far enough or fast enough away. Not from this place, this barren place where once there'd been life and families and love. Now there were only ruins, and silence, and emptiness.

And Jack.

* * *

Written and posted: July 13, 2002


End file.
